To Be Together Again
by KERNTKitty
Summary: Gwenneth is content as can be in Mirkwood with her beloved Legolas. But when he leaves on the Quest of the Ring, she has to learn that she can be strong on her own, as well as with him. Hopefully no cliche junk. Ch. 3 up!
1. 1

**This is my first Lego-mance, but not one where they actually _fall_ in love, so don't worry, no cliches, I hope. Just a little background that I didn't have the energy to write up: Legolas and Gwenneth have been together, oh, lots of hundreds of years. So they're really close, and no instant romance. But they're not married, because their parents think they're too young. Poor dears. (Oh, and I don't know if we know anything about Legolas' mother, but I've put her in here. If she shouldn't be, tell me. This is about the time of the Quest of the Ring.)**

**_meleth nín-_ my love**

**_melin le_- I love you**

In a corner of one of the Mirkwood king's Elven halls, two Elves sat hand in hand, staring up at the ceiling in thought. Their names were Gwenneth and Legolas, one a fair Elf-maiden of unremarkable birth, the other the Elven prince of the Mirkwood. The latter seemed to be puzzling something out. "Hmm, purple. How many times have we done this certain color, and still you challenge me with it?"

Gwenneth laughed. "Many times have I posed this question to you, and many answers have you given. Still there must be more. Tell me, have you thought of an answer?" The two of them often played this game, just as a way to pass the ample time they spent together. One of them would name a color, and the other would think of a way to describe it without using the sense of sight. Legolas let Gwenneth's hand go and threw his arms up.

"Ai! I know not, Gwenneth. I cannot think of any that I have not yet used! Can you?" She shook her head.

"Nay. Perhaps we have exhausted description for this color. What shall we do now?" Legolas sat back and considered.

"Let us try something different than usual. Put your mind to this. Cold, Gwenneth. Describe cold. Surely mortals, more susceptible to such things, would know it better, but try your hand at it." Gwenneth frowned.

"I am not sure. Perhaps being all alone and frightened, that would cause me to feel cold." Legolas nodded. "What do you think it is?"

Shrugging, Legolas replied, "The closest I believe I can come is... the hollow in your stomach when one you love has died. Then again, death in itself is a bit foreign to us." Gwenneth shuddered.

"Yes, that is a good description. What about something more pleasant? Such as heat. What do you think hot is like? This should be fairly easy." Leaning back against the stone, Legolas thought.

After a moment, he replied, "I think heat could be like anger. Or embarrassment."

"By the Valar, Legolas, you are of a depressing mind this day. Here, then. What of warmth? Surely you can find some good in that."

Legolas peeked at her from the corner of his eye. "Pleasant. What about coming home from a long journey? Is that pleasant enough?" Gwenneth nodded, leaning back on her elbows.

"I think this one is simple. Here is warmth." A sparkle entered her eyes, then she leaned toward him and pressed her lips softly to his. He closed his eyes and felt she was right. This was the definition of warmth. When she pulled away, he reached up and stroked her cheek with a finger.

"That is the very essence of it, _meleth nín_." She smiled, then her mouth popped open and her eyes widened.

"Ai, I am supposed to be in the kitchens helping Naneth right now!" Legolas rolled his eyes.

"If you must go, I pity you. All right, then." She stood and placed her hands comically on her hips.

"Cooking is not all so bad as you make it out to be. It is a good skill to learn, and I rather enjoy it!" She smiled playfully and turned with a wave of farewell.

He rose and called after her, "Well, do not expect me to take your side someday when our daughter decides she does not want cooking lessons!" She whirled and hastened back to him, taking his hands in hers.

"That was positively the right thing to say." She tiptoed to quickly kiss the corner of his mouth and scurried away. Legolas felt that warmth again, and smiled, brushing the hand over the place that she'd kissed. He shook his head and walked away.

Some time passed, and life went on as normal in Mirkwood. For a time, Legolas was often away from the cave-halls, and when he was there seemed preoccupied and worried. Gwenneth asked him often what was happening, but he would only answer, "nothing," and walk away. Soon she stopped asking, or at least, she stopped asking him. She asked his mother a few times, but she had no knowledge of it. When she got the oppurtunity, she asked King Thranduil. Legolas' father's eyes became slightly guarded, but he smiled and assured her that there was nothing to fear. "Only the business of a warrior," he told her. But that did worry Gwenneth. She had always worried for Legolas, because he was a warrior, but the fact that he would not tell her something about it chafed at her in an unreachable spot under her skin.

Then Legolas came home one day very troubled. He brushed by her as he came in with only a nod, not even a smile. Gwenneth was too shocked to follow him, but later that day she went to him. He had shut himself in his chambers and hardly answered to her knock. She was afraid she would find him weeping, but still he only seemed troubled, perhaps angry, though at whom she could not say. She sat beside him on the bed and crooked her arm around his shoulders, turning his face towards her. He took her hand and smiled slightly, but still did not speak. "Legolas, _meleth nín_, what is wrong? Why are you so distant?"

Letting go her hand, he pulled her head to his shoulder and leaned his chin against her brow, ringing his arms around her loosely. She settled her hands against his chest and waited for him to answer. He took a deep breath, exhaled, and then spoke slowly. "There was... an effort that we were making. We had a creature captive whom I and many others were needed to guard. That is what has kept me away from the life of the halls so much of late. I did not want to trouble you with it, though it seems I troubled you whether I spoke to you of it or not. But this day, it was discovered that our prisoner had escaped, and though we found traces of him, we could not recapture him. It is not good that he is lost."

Gwenneth rubbed Legolas' shoulders. "I am sorry, Legolas. But had you told me, I could have done my best to ease your burden." He relaxed into her touch, closing his eyes and almost letting his mind drift to sleep.

"I will remember that, Gwenneth. Thank you," he murmured against her hair. By the time she rose and went back to her chambers, he smiled freely, as though a great cloud had been lifted from his mind. But still, she noticed as she slipped out, his eyes were heavy and burdened. She wished there was more she could do, but nothing else came to mind. She went back to her chambers. Sleep came easily, the first night it had been so since Legolas had begun acting so strangely. Still, she realized, he had not told her who the prisoner was that they had been keeping. "Creature," he had said. Curious times, curious actions. And curious secrets, she thought ruefully.

Legolas was involved in the social life of the halls as normal after that night. He frolicked in the woods with the other Elves, and resumed his normal time with Gwenneth. Every so often his maiden would catch a dull gleam of trouble in his eyes, but she would only try to cheer him, since there was not anything else to do.

Less than a week after the escape of the prisoner, a messenger from the king came to where Legolas and Gwenneth were sitting together and summoned Legolas to his father's throne. This was not greatly unusual, but Gwenneth again caught the troubled look in his eyes, and gripped his fingers an extra moment as he kissed her hand. He smiled at her and walked after the messenger. Gwenneth sat back against the wall in a bit of a huff. What kind of prisoner would cause him such burden, even after the prisoner had gone? Why would he personally be so troubled about the escape of one captive?

Gwenneth did not see Legolas again for quite a few hours. When she did see him again, he was in his traveling garb, his bow and knife were strapped on his back, and he was carrying a pack. "Legolas, dear one, where are you off to, and so close to evening?" He stopped at her voice and turned to face her, a distracted smile flickering on his face.

"Ah, Gwenneth, _muin nín._ I had hoped I would see you before I left." Her eyes widened at his words, and she opened her mouth to ask again where he was going, but he held a hand to her lips and pulled her alongside him, slipping a leather-guarded arm around her waist as they walked. "My father has sent me on a journey. It is not far, only to Imladris to bring a message to Lord Elrond who rules there. It will not take me long, but my father wishes me to leave at once. I was just going to the stables, to fetch my horse and be off." She looked up into his eyes, an hurt expression playing on her face.

"You were not going to tell me..." He shook his head and shushed her, stroking her jawline.

"Ai, do not say such a thing of me, Gwenneth! I had a dear hope that our paths would cross on the way. If I were to leave without telling you, why then would I take the long way to the stables from my father's court? The way that happens to run by your chambers?" She conceded and leaned against him as they walked. Once at the stable, she helped him prepare his horse.

"It will not be long before you return?" He turned to face her and took her in his arms.

"You can expect me back in a month, depending on how greatly the Lord Elrond extends his hospitalities. Imladris is such a lovely place." Gwenneth pouted, only partly in jest.

"Whoever said a month was as a moment to Edhil knew nothing of love." Legolas chuckled, then kissed the tip of her nose.

"Nay, they simply knew nothing of you and your over-attachement, _meleth nín. _I will return." With that he let her go and leapt to the horse's back. "_Melin le_, Gwenneth." She nodded.

"_Navaer_, _Legolas_, _a ná Elbereth veria le, ná elenath dín síla erin rád o chuil lín_. _Melin_ _le_." (Farewell, Legolas, and may Elbereth protect you, may her stars shine on the path of your life. I love you.) She patted the horse's flank as Legolas spoke to him. The horse moved off at a quick trot. Gwenneth shook her head and turned around. She would miss him, but she was not over-attached. Of course not! Yet she already felt heartache, watching him leave. Had she known what was soon to happen, she would never have let him mount his horse.

**Please tell me what you think! R&R!**


	2. 2

**Ernestine: Thank you for your praise. However, I have used real Elvish for the names. _Believe me_, I know not to use Grey Company. Yuck! I have been informed that Gwenneth should be spelled "Gweneth," and it means Young Maiden. Thank you for you good wishes! (PS- I thought something like star or flower would be a bit too cliche.)**

**_iell nín-_ my daughter  
****_Naneth/Nana-_ Mother/Mom  
****_Mell nín-_ my beloved/dear  
****_Pheriannath-_ Halflings, Hobbits  
****_Naethen-_ I'm sorry**

Many days later, a horse arrived at the Elven-king's halls. On its back was borne a rider, of the Elven folk, but not of Mirkwood. Gweneth had been sorely disappointed when she saw that it was not Legolas arriving back, and had beensunk into a foul temper ever since. Her hopes had risen when she had heard of the rider's coming, but the dive that those same hopes had taken had put her in a sulky mood. Perhaps she was a bit over-attached. She stayed in her chambers for quite some time thinking about Legolas, until her mother, Gwenél, came in and sat with her. "_Iell nín_, why is your face so downtrodden? Had you thought your prince had returned?"

Gweneth smiled sadly. "Aye, Nana. I thought for sure that the rider was he. Who was the Elf that arrived just this morn?" Gwenél hesitated before answering, and Gweneth looked up at her. Her face was troubled. "Nana? Who was he? What news did he bear to the king?"

Finally Gwenél answered, "Gweneth, he was- he was a messenger from Lord Elrond of Imladris." Immediately from her mother's tone Gweneth gathered that something was wrong, and realization of what it must be caused her breath to be snatched from her lungs.

"Legolas, Naneth. Is he hurt? What has happened? Speak, Naneth, I beg you!" She felt her eyes filling with tears, though without founded cause. It was simply a messenger from Rivendell. Surely that did not have to mean anything about Legolas. But if it did not, then why had Legolas not returned with him, or borne the message himself? Gwenél tightened her arms around her daughter.

"Hush, child. Legolas is safe and well, as far as I know. You should be proud of him for the task he has undertaken. It is a noble deed, and will bring him much honor." Gweneth slumped against her mother's arms in relief, but it lasted only a moment. She realized that her mother had not yet told her what it was that he had taken on.

"Naneth, there is more. Why has he not come back? He said he would return within a month- it is drawing near to that time. What task has he taken?" Gwenél again hushed her daughter.

"Listen, and have patience. It seems that, at the time that Lord Legolas was in Imladris, the Lord Elrond called a council. We know not much of the council, but for its outcome. Legolas has taken on a journey, with one or some of the Pheriannath, and others. Gandalf the Grey is with them, as well." Gweneth's eyes widened in fear that gripped her suddenly. She was most certainly over-attached.

"Where has he gone? When will he return, and from what? What sort of journey is this? Naneth, please!" Gwenél let her daughter go and pulled a package from her robes.

"The messenger bore this from Lord Legolas. He was bidden to give it to you. Perhaps it will explain more than I know. Be strong, _iell nín_, for it is only for a time." With that she slipped out the door with a comforting pat to Gweneth's shoulder. As soon as her mother closed the door, Gweneth untied the strings that bound the small linen-wrapped package. Inside was a little scroll sealed with Legolas' insignia, and a small leather pouch. Gweneth pulled the seal away, doing it as little damage as possible, and unrolled the frail paper. She smiled slightly, reading the words that she knew came from the mind of her beloved.

Mell nín _Gweneth,_

_I beg you to forgive me for betraying my word to you. I know I swore to return within a month, and I had full intent of doing just that. However, fate spins webs that even the Firstborn cannot see. What follows is my deepest, most loving apology, and as much of an explanation as I can give._

_It seems that the Ring of Power has been found. It is in the steady hands of one of the Pheriannath, a young (by our standards) lad, Frodo Baggins, son of Drogo. His uncle, Bilbo Baggins, who raised him, has quite an interesting tale having to do with certain Dwarves whom were held captive in Mirkwood some years ago. However, that is a tale for another letter. The point of this letter is to say this. _

_The council called by Elrond (or most of it) has agreed that the Ring must be destroyed to rid us of Sauron's power before he destroys us. Thus a Fellowship was formed to accompany this Ring-bearer (the aforementioned Frodo Baggins) on his journey to Orodruin to destroy the Ring. As you may have guessed by this time, since you have a sharp mind, I have agreed to go with Master Frodo and lend him all the assistance I may. Please do not be angry with me, _meleth nín_. This is what I feel I have to do. I know that no words I speak can compensate for this, but I hope that you will understand._

Naethen_, Gweneth, and still I say this: We will meet again. Whether in dreams, in Aman, or in life, we will meet again. I will not make such promises as I did before this and say that I will return, for every one of us who embark on this quest know that we may never return from it. I do not say this to frighten you. Know, Gweneth, that the fate of Arda rests upon the shoulders of this Fellowship, and on the small back of the little Ring-bearer. I believe you would find him and his companions quite comical. It is on this note that I bid you farewell, Gweneth. Please speak none of this to anyone, but leave it in my father's able hands._ Guren nallatha nalú achenin le Melithon le anuir

Estelio enni

_Legolas_

_PS- Please accept what is enclosed in this pouch, it is my offering to you as a token of my love (and a request for forgiveness)._

(A/N: _Guren nallatha nalú achenin le- _My heart shall weep until I see you again. _Melithon le anuir- _I will love you forever. _Estelio enni- _Trust in me)

The smile had faded, replaced by tears, by the time Gweneth finished reading the letter. She rolled up the scroll and tucked it into her raiment. Then she turned her attention on the little leather pouch. Anything to keep her mind from the obvious was welcome. She carefully untied the little drawstrings and pulled it open, fishing inside. She drew out a fine silver chain on which hung a thin disk, also of silver, no wider than the size of two of her slender finger-widths. On one side was etched a miniscule leaf, and on the other the Elvish words, "_Melithon le anuir_." (I will love you forever.) Gweneth laughed even through her tears and slipped the chain over her head. She laid the pouch and the cloth it had all been bound in on her desk and left her chambers, wiping her tears as she walked down the near-deserted hall.

At their camp the first day of their journey, Legolas sought to be merry, and succeeded, for a time. But after a while he found himself gazing up at the sky. A gentle, wizened hand on his shoulder caused him to turn to face Gandalf. The old wizard was smiling knowingly at him, pipe in hand. "There is a strange light in your eyes, Legolas. You miss her, do you not?"

Smiling playfully, Legolas replied, "Who, Mithrandir?" The old man chuckled and brushed a hand at the prince's arm.

"Do not think to play the fool with me, Greenleaf. You know of whom I speak, the charming Elf-maiden whom I met on my last visit to your father's halls." Legolas smiled wistfully.

"Gweneth. Aye, I miss her. I fear to think of how she has reacted. She always was a bit too attached to me. I joked with her about it, but it is true. I sorrow for her." Gandalf nodded thoughtfully.

"Perhaps. But I think this will be good for her, in a way. She will learn that, though she is stronger with you, she can also be strong without you." Legolas considered a moment, then laughed humorlessly.

"Gandalf, you speak as if you truly expect me to come back from this journey alive. I know not if I will. I plan to, but..." Gandalf shrugged in understanding.

"But time spins its own patterns." Legolas nodded in agreement. "Still, I believe you will come out of this alive." With that note of encouragement, Gandalf wandered away. Legolas wondered what Gweneth had thought of his gift. It was not what he would have wished to give- the gift of his presence- but it would have to do. He headed back to their small fire and smiled and laughed with the other men. That night the _crebain _came.

From her quarters, Gweneth went to the court of King Thranduil and begged admittance. Her relationship with the prince was well-known, and the king had a fatherly affection for her, so she was soon let in. There was the Elven-king in all his glory, smiling down on her as she was led in. "Lady Gweneth, beloved of my son, what service may I do you?"

Gweneth bowed her head before the king. "My Lord, I wish to speak to you of your son and his errand." She applied what she hoped was obvious meaning to the last word. Within moments, Thranduil had dismissed all servants but a dark-haired, relatively short Elf in the corner.

"You have been told of his quest, Gweneth?"

Taking the statement to mean she could speak of it in front of the man in the corner, Gweneth nodded, dipping a curtsy. "Aye, my Lord. He sent me a letter, and a gift. His letter explained things." Thranduil nodded.

"Of course he would do so. Tell me, Gweneth, did he reveal to you whom this prisoner was that escaped from us? I have been told you knew of that."

"Nay, my King. He told me only that a prisoner had escaped, but not who- or even what- it was. Is this a troublesome thing, Lord King?" Thranduil shook his head, then frowned.

"Enough of these courtesies, Lady. Take a seat. You are as my daughter, and soon will be, if Legolas gets his wish." Gweneth smiled. She knew of what Thranduil spoke. Legolas had been asking his father to allow him to wed Gweneth for quite some time. Thranduil had always responded that both Legolas and Gweneth were still too young. That was true; though they were both grown, they really were young by Elven standards. But it sounded as if Thranduil were weakening on the subject, or at least thought that they were approaching an appropriate age. Still, all that depended on whether or not Legolas returned.

"Nay, it is not bad that he did not tell you, only strange. I had thought he told you everything."

"He does, my Lord. Most things. But he feared I would be troubled by it. Or perhaps he was ashamed that he had allowed the prisoner to escape and did not want to speak more of it. Who was the prisoner, and why is it so troublesome that he escaped?" Thranduil waved a hand at the man in the corner, one of his advisors, as Gweneth now recognized him, and the man brought a seat for her.

"This will be a long tale. The creature's name was Gollum. Sméagol, if you like. He was a prisoner appointed to us for keeping by Gandalf the Grey. Unfortunately, whether out of lacking care or over-kindness, he escaped." Thranduil went on to tell her the whole tale, or what he knew, of Gollum and Gandalf's instruction. "I sent Legolas to Imladris to inform Lord Elrond of the escape, so that Gandalf might hear of it. But it seems that strings of fate had become tangled in even a worse snarl than we could see." He told her of the news from the messenger, and a bit more about the quest that she had not known. But it seemed that even he did not know much. "I await his return as eagerly as do you, Gweneth. That is all I have to tell. Is there any other thing you needed, or are you satisfied with as seemingly little as I can tell you?"

Gweneth curtsied as she rose from her chair. "Nay, King. I am satisfied. Thank you for taking so much time to speak with me." Thranduil kissed her hand and looked up at her with sorrowful eyes.

"He is my son. I fear for him as well. I beg, for the sake of your heart and mine, that he returns home unharmed." Gweneth nodded and left, feeling her tears coming again. She did not understand herself; it was not as if he was dead already.

"But he could easily die," she grumbled to herself, wiping away tears. That was what made it so bad. She could not know, she could only wait, living in painful suspense each day, waiting for and dreading the arrival of a messenger to say that Legolas had been killed. Or maybe she would never find out, or at least not until long after he had died. She shook her head. "I must stop thinking about this." She resolved to go find her mother, and perhaps help her in the kitchens. Distracting herself was going to be her main effort for quite some time.

A bit less than two months after the messenger had arrived, another messenger rode in with a letter for her and news of Legolas. The rider was from Lórien, and his message was that the Fellowship of the Ring had passed through there and stayed a time. The whole of the kingdom of Elves was grieved to learn of the fall of the old wizard Gandalf, but Gweneth's heart, though saddened, felt lighter than it had since Legolas had departed.

The letter was much the same in structure as the first; he told of his activites and the beauty of the Golden Wood, his sorrow at the fall of Gandalf, and other things, including his growing friendship with another of the Fellowship, Aragorn, known to the Elven-kin as Estel. He repeated his love for her many times, and his hope that she would still love him, though he would be parted from her for a long while and he had not kept his word and returned. Gweneth thought she would have slapped him had he been there when she read that he feared she would desert his love. He should have known better. After that letter Gweneth heard nothing of Legolas for quite some time, and began again to worry fiercely for him.

**What do you think? I, personally, am very proud of this. I think it has a good feel to it, at least, better than many of my other fics. Please review! It's simple, really! Just type a few words and submit.**


	3. 3

**Sarah: Aww. blushing Thank you. That's very nice. Personally,I like Thranduil a lot. So many people portray him as mean, abusive, or whatnot.**

**Amiala: Thanks! I think Gandalf and Legolas should have talked more in the movies- they _are _the two oldest members of the group, in my reckoning!**

**HyperSquishy: Interesting penname you got there. Anyway, you really haven't seen stories like this? Here I was worrying this was all gonna be to cliche- I think you've made my year.  
**

Less than a month, really only half a month after the second letter from Legolas, Gweneth was walking in the halls when she heard a great commotion begin outside. She opened her door to find men streaming by, strapping on battle gear and fastening weapons as they hurried along. She called out to them, asking what was wrong, and one stopped, though he seemed anxious to head onward. "Dol Guldur is marching on us, Lady. You should get deep into the halls with the rest of the women and the children. We go to meet the forces of Dol Guldur in battle. Get far into the caves, my Lady, go now!"

He hurried back into the crowd, leaving Gweneth slack-jawed in shock. Dol Guldur was marching on them? What did that mean? Going back into her chambers to fetch a few things before going far back into the caves where she knew the other women would be, Gweneth fingered the disk on the chain about her neck. He had to be alright, but the last thing Gweneth wanted was for him to come back to find her- or more likely his father- dead. She hurried back into the caves.

It seemed like forever that they sat back there, with no sign as to what was going on. Faint sounds of battle drifted constantly to them, but other than that, it was silent, but for the quiet sobs of frightened mothers, wives, and children, and worried whispers. One thing that Gweneth had been sure to get from her room was the cloth that she had wrapped both letters from Legolas in. She read the letters over and over again, just to have the comfort of his words.

After many hours, there was noise heard more clearly from above the cellar where they sat. A few braver women ventured out cautiously, then called back, "The warriors have returned! The battle is over and we have victory!" Cheers went up, and the noise above them took shape into song and shouts of victory. The rest of the women rushed up the halls towards the doors, the children running along behind. But when they came to the magic-bound doors of the halls, which were thrown open to admit soldiers, the women stopped short and held the children back, covering the eyes of the young ones when they could. The forest was changed. Fires still smouldered here and there, and the corpses of Orcs and elves lay everywhere. Gweneth nearly screamed, and many other women did.

A group of passing warriors held a groaning, screaming comrade between them. One man held a blood-soaked cloth over the warrior's stomach, where blood seemed to flow without a care for the cloth and the effort to staunch it. Men lying on the ground, seemingly dead, would lift a hand and moan for help. The women ushered the children back inside, and most of them followed, quite grey and sickened. Gweneth's mother, Gwenél, was one of the only women who did not rush back inside. Gwenél had no young children to shield from the horror, and she had always had a strong stomach and a compassionate heart. Gweneth was still frozen in shock when Gwenél rushed to a fallen, groaning elf-warrior and looked for injuries, then gently turned him over.

She covered her mouth for a moment at the sight of a long gash running across the man's torso, but recovered herself quickly. "Gweneth, over here quickly, and help me with this, if you can bring yourself to it." Gweneth nodded her whirling head and half-stumbled to her mother, falling to her knees beside the wounded warrior. His eyes were cracked open, his lips twitched as if he were trying to speak, but it seemed that the gash was deeper than it looked and he might have other injuries, as well. Gwenél shot her daughter a glance. "You need not help if it is overly difficult for you. I can find another, or one of the men will help me." Gweneth shook her head.

"I'll help you, Nana. What do I do?" Gwenél bent over the man, inspecting the injury closely.

"I am not sure yet, _iell nín_. Give me a moment, and I shall have an answer for you." After a pause, she said, "Now then, would you take off all these leather straps." Assuming her mother meant the straps that secured his weapons on him, she hurriedly unbuckled them, grimacing when the man moaned in pain.

"What now, Nana?" She asked when she was finished with that. Another small task and another followed that.

Finally, Gwenél said, "That is really all you can do here, I will take care of the rest. Go and check to see if any of the other fallen warriors are alive. Check for any sign, Gweneth! If there is still a heartbeat, even if it is hardly detectable, see what you can do. Alert someone who can do something for him. Go on!" Gweneth nodded and turned. Faced again with the strewn bodies of Elves and Orcs alike, Gweneth turned back to Gwenél.

"Nana- what if it is an Orc that is still alive?" Her mother looked up sharply.

"Do not check them. If there is one still alive... there are enough knives around here for you to find one, I suppose." Realizing what her mother meant, Gweneth covered her mouth and whirled away, falling beside the first warrior she saw. He was lying face-up, and his chest was covered with blood. His eyes were closed, his face contorted in a grimace of pain. Hesitantly, Gweneth picked up a knife from nearby- she shuddered remembering her mother's words- and held the flat of the blade close in front of the warrior's mouth. After a moment she drew it away and inspected it. Nothing, no trace of misty dampness. Desperately she clutched at his limp wrist and placed her fingers there, praying for a pulse. None came. Her tears dampened her face and the ground as she turned away from him.

She could hardly see as she knelt beside the next warrior. He was face-down, so she gently began to turn him over. When she had only started to lift him, she glanced at his stomach and pulled her hand away, letting his body drop to the ground. She covered her face with her hands and rocked slowly on her knees, willing her tears to stop and the nausea in her stomach to subside. No one could survive the wound he bore. She was no healer, but she knew enough tobe sure ofthat. As soon as her legs would obey her commands, she stumbled to the next elf.

One of his hands still grasped a sword, stretched out beside him. The other was thrown above his head as if shielding himself from something. Even as she watched, his hand moved slightly. Encouraged, Gweneth touched his back, preparing to turn him over. The man's hand that covered his downturned head shot out sideways and gripped her upper arm tightly. Gweneth whimpered in fright and a bit of pain. The warrior's head turned towards her, and Gweneth recognized him as Hinhael, a close friend of Legolas'.

"G-Gweneth?" His voice was raspy from pain, and he sucked in breaths and clenched his teeth as she nodded. "I-it is my leg. I cannot move it and- Ai, Gweneth, it hurts." Gweneth nodded hesitantly and looked for words.

"What should I do? Can I turn you over so someone can get a look at it?" He hesitated, then nodded. He released her arm and got up on his elbows, biting his lip against the pain. Gweneth sought to help him as much as she could, but he seemed to be doing well by himself. His left leg hung limp, and blood stained the leaf carpet under him, but with a sudden effort and a cry, he turned himself and collapsed, panting for breath. He smiled up at her weakly as he caught his breath again.

"Is that- good enough, Gweneth?" Gweneth nodded numbly.

"I have to tell a healer or someone, so they can tend to it." Hinhaelshook his head.

"Nay, they have other men to tend to who are far more badly hurt than I. If you will help me, I believe I could get inside, and wait until the healers have done with the others." Gweneth hesitated.

"Ah- Is that wise? It could be made worse if-"

"Nonsense, Gweneth, I know enough of this to be sure I will not injure myself further only by walking inside. Actually, I would, if I sought to walk inside without assistance. But if you will help me, then it shall be fine." His speech was clearer already, though it seemed thickened by pain. "Come now, give me your hand." He barked a laugh, remembering her slim build compared to his thicker, taller one. "And you may want to brace yourself against a tree, or something of the sort." Gweneth smiled slightly and nodded, standing. She placed one hand against a tree, not really to brace herself, just to give herself a hold if she came to need it, and stretched out the other hand to Hinhael. He grabbed it and pulled himself up, and Gweneth found herself very much using the support of the tree. Light though he was, since he was an elf, she also was an elf and lighter still than he. Yetwithin a moment he was up, leaning against the tree and standing on only his right leg, his chest heaving from the effort.

"Here, Gweneth," he panted, "come under my left side and give me some help, I believe I will need it more than I first thought." In dismay Gweneth shook her head fiercely.

"Nay, nay, it is not safe, not safe at all. You are injured more severely than at first you believed, and I will not allow you to do so more, for I am of inadequate assistance." Hinhaelcontrolled his breathing and laughed.

"Nay, you will be fine. Here, come, and help me, so that I can get inside. Then you can go back to your duty." Gweneth shivered at the thought of going about this again, but came to his left side and hooked his arm over her shoulders so he could have her support. Shorter than himshe was, thatwas true, but not by much, and she stood sturdy under his weight, once she was accustomed to it. "There we are, good. Come on!" He began hopping forward, and his light manner disappeared, replaced by an expression of intense pain. Sounds that seemed suspiciously like whimpers came from him, but Gweneth blocked the sound from her ears, for she did not think she could stand to keep on like this if she listened to his pain for long.

Hinhael had fallen not far from the doors of the halls, so it was a very short time before they were inside, and elves that were hanging about in the halls without direction were offering to help. Hinhaelpolitely declined every offer, saying he was perfectly satisfied with Gweneth's assistance. But when an elf-maiden came by bearing binding cloths, Gweneth forced Hinhaelto stop and allow the maiden to bind his leg to slow the bleeding, which had started again during the course of his movement. When she finished with his leg, the woman instructed him to be sure to keep off the leg, and to stay in bed and rest. He bowed his head submissively and agreed, but Gweneth doubted he would follow her words as well as he should.

When they came to his chambers, Hinhaelleaned against the wall while Gweneth prepared his bed for him. Once she helped him to his bed, he settled in wearily, finally showing the exhaustion caused by the pain and effort of moving about. Gweneth promised to find the healers, despite his protests that he did not need it as much as some, and left quickly. As soon as her eyes caught the sight of an elf she knew to be a healer, she told the woman of Hinhael's injury and where he was. The healer thanked her and said she would see to it. Gweneth went back into the forest and began her task again, with more than a little hesitation.

That began hours the same painful, repetetive task. She checked for signs of life, and in most cases found none. Unwillingly, she adopted a small knife she had found on the ground near the body of a slain warrior and used it to check for breath as well as to cut away clothes from wounds that needed to be inspected.

Even as she cried over the many dead bodies, a selfish thought entered her mind. _I am so glad Legolas was not here, that he was not one of these._ She ridiculed herself for the thought. These were all her people, many friends, some even distant kin. With that another thought cut through the numbness in her head. _Ada! Where is Ada?_ It had not even occured to her that her father could be one of these warriors from whom no breath came.

Desperately she quickened her work, checking each Elven body for life and also for the familiar characteristics of her father. She no longer sought to help each warrior that had life herself. Instead she called out to a healer or a warrior nearby and went on to the next warrior. One of the men, as so many, had fallen by an arrow. The shaft protruded from his back, though it did not seem to go as deep as some. She knew better than to remove the arrow, and instead lifted his arm away from his face to check for breath. She shrieked and fell back against a slain warrior. The face before her was unmistakeable. "Ada!"

**TBC...**

**Oh no! What shall she do! My first successful cliffie...**


	4. 4

**Ch. 4 up! The remedy of the cliffie hath come!**

Gweneth sat staring in horror at her father's body. Though she had been able to handle all the other warriors, she couldn't bring herself to even check for life in her father. It was the thought of what it meant if she found no breath that kept her back. She felt frozen, except her head, which felt like a river was rushing, pounding through it. She opened her mouth, but no sound came past her tears. Finally, she choked out, "Nana!" No response came. She knew Gwenél was out there still, she had seen her only a short time before. "Nana! Naneth!" She heard footsteps rushing up behind her.

"Gweneth? What is it- no!" Gwenél caught sight of what Gweneth was staring wide-eyed at and fell to her knees beside him.

"Is he- have you checked, Gweneth?" Her voice was desperate, choked with tears. "Túion... oh, please... Gweneth, have you checked? Answer me!" Gweneth found her voice even as Gwenél pulled a knife from her belt.

"N-nay, Nana. I haven't." Gwenél held the flat of the long knife to Túion's mouth and drew it away quickly. Gweneth couldn't see the blade, so she asked, "Nana, is he alive?" Some how that was easier thnan asking if he was dead. Gwenél turned to Gweneth with a wide smile and a cross between tears and laughter.

"He lives, _iell nín_. It is faint, but he lives. Come help me." Gweneth immediately knelt across her father's body from her mother. After the number of dead, dying, and wounded men she had seen in the last hours, she no longer hesitated to do what she could. "Just- just hold him, _iell nín_, to be sure he doesn't move while I do this." Gweneth wasn't sure she wanted to know what Gwenél was doing, but she held her hands firmly on her father's still back. Gwenél took hold of the arrow and snapped it off nearly halfway down the protruding shaft. Gweneth felt Túion's muscles tighten for an instant, but other than that he was completely motionless.

Gwenél shook her head. "My skill is not great in healing, too weak to do anymore for him. But we should do what we can to ease his pain until the healers can tend him." Gweneth nodded.

"What should I do, Naneth?" Upon hearing that her father lived, her mind had calmed a bit.

"Try to remove his guards, belt, straps, anything to free his breathing a bit." Gweneth nodded and began working at her father's wristguards. She felt a strange nothingness. For once she wasn't even worried for Legolas. The name entered her mind like a soft breath disturbing a heavy mist. Legolas-- oh yes, the man she loved. So distant he seemed, here in the world created by her shock. Yes, that's what she was feeling-- or rather, not feeling. She was in shock. Now it all made numb sense.

After a time, warriors came to carry away, assuring Gweneth and Gwenél that he would recover. Before they took him, Gwenél brushed a lock of his hair away from his face and kissed his cheek, murmuring, "Be strong, _meleth nín_." Then she went back to what she had been doing, tears sparkling in her eyes. She moved with the same light fluidity Gweneth did, as if she were floating, marking her as being in shock as well. Who wasn't?

Eventually Gweneth turned back to her duty, but with a different manner. Before, her task had been a simple one of labeling. This one was dead, this one alive, and so on, time after unrelenting time. Now it was, "He is dead. He was someone's son, brother, father, or husband," or, "This one is alive. His wife will be overjoyed." She saw faces, not just the mist of breath or the feel of a pulse. They were burned into her mind.

Gweneth worked until she couldn't drag herself to the next body. It was late at night. She felt she must have checked every fallen body twice, but it seemed that as the Orc corpses were cleared away and disposed of, more Elven bodies were revealed. Perhaps, as an Elf, she should not have been as tired as she was, but the Elven mind was highly susceptible to stress, and of that Gweneth had had no shortage. She felt herself being carried inside after a time, where she was placed in a hall with other resting workers, some healers, some warriors. She lay there and rested far into the next day. Little did she know what her beloved Legolas, so far from her mind, was experiencing.

The battle of the Pelennor was easily the greatest battle of its Age. Legolas had never seen so much fighting,nor had he ever foughtso hard, save possibly in the Last Alliance. He must have come close to death more times that day than in a thousand years before that. Every time he was tempted to let some Orc get the better of him and end everything, two thoughts came to mind. _What will Gweneth do if I die? _and _For Frodo!_ So he kept on, even when defeat seemed certain, even when he felt the hot breath of death on his face. Perhaps every man had at least one of Legolas' thoughts pulsing through his mind: the thought of a loved one and how they would go on if he died. Whatever gave them victory, it came, and the battle was won.

Legolas felt ashamed of his wish for Gweneth when he watched Éomer grieve for Théoden and fear for his sister. Here was he, wishing for his lover that he knew was safe in Mirkwood under the protection of his father, and Éomer would never hear his uncle's voice again. He had only just gained him back from the clutches of Saruman, and now he was gone forever. And as far as he knew, Éowyn could die just as easily. A brave deed had the swordmaiden done, and long would it be remembered, but much grief did it cause those close to her. Who was Legolas to yearn for Gweneth's arms when Éomer grieved the loss of his uncle and the wounds of his sister, and countless women and children had been made widows and orphans in the space of hours? But though he felt it was wrong, he could not banish his longing for Gweneth's green eyes and soft smile. He knew nothing of the battle under the trees of Mirkwood.

Eight days later, Legolas stood watching the Mouth of Sauron's retreat outside of Mordor. After the battle of the Pelennor, Legolas had hoped that the fighting would be done with, but in his heart he had known that his journey was far from over. So it had been confirmed, and now he knew that these moments he was living now would likely be his last. "Let the Lord of the Black Land come forth! Justice shall be done upon him!" Legolas closed his eyes and took a deep, slow breath, preparing himself. His bow was strung, his knife was ready. But his heart was not yet prepared. Such Shadow lingered over this place that it sickened him, and made his heart long even for the darkest places of the Mirkwood.

But the thing he yearned for most was Gweneth's touch. It had been so long since he had seen her, since he'd held her last. More than half a year it had been, and his heart was past the point of aching for her. Now he had to fight for her and for all Arda. If he survived, and they gained victory, which was more than impossible, then so be it, and he would be happy. But if fate took the most likely course, if he was killed and all his comrades with him, then he only hoped that Gweneth would find her way to a safer place and escape the hold of the Dark Lord. The gates opened.

All thoughts of Gweneth and anyone else fled his mind as a filthy flood of enemies rushed out the gate. Legolas' head reeled with hate at the jeering calls that were shouted at the small company surrounded by the sea of foes. Then all turned to chaos as the battle began. Long he fought, and past when all hope was gone. But hope soon kindled new, and the Dark Tower was thrown down. Legolas, watching the Shadow well and depart, also felt a great weight lift, from his shoulders and from his heart. He laughed for joy and relief as his foes ran for their lives, their master stricken to ruin. And he knew that, though still the Shadow had left its mark on the world, the reign of Sauron was over.

In the Mirkwood a week and a day had passed since the battle under the trees. The Orcs had been disposed of, and the slain warriors were given honorable services. Still there were about the palace many men with parts of their bodies swathed in bandages, splinted tightly, or stitched up. Gweneth had been busy, helping to tend to her father, who was awake and quickly recovering. She had been by his bedside when he had woken, and had sung to him many things as he lay there smiling up at her. Her life was returning to normal, but for a few things. One, that Legolas had not returned. Since the battle, and even before, she had not found herself missing him as keenly as she might. She still loved him, but she didn't think she was overattached anymore, as he had so often said her to be.

Second, the Shadow lingered heavy on the hearts of everyone. The songs and merriment were less and less frequent in the Wood as the Shadow seemed to billow like a black cloud over their hearts. Not knowing anything more of the events outside of the Mirkwood, Gweneth feared that the quest had failed, and that Legolas was dead. Yet somewhere, in her heart, she felt that it was not so. Thus it was that eighth day after the battle under the trees and, though unknown to her, the battle of Pelennor Fields, that Gweneth was sitting near the magic-bound doors of the cave-halls, humming an old Elvish song to herself. Then, all at once, the Shadow departed suddenly from her.

It was such a shock that she sprang to her feet as if in fright. She heard startled, amazed cries from the places around her, and she knew that it was not just she. The Shadow was gone, and that could mean only one thing. She rushed down the hall to the throneroom, and without a thought for courtesy burst through the heavy doors. There in front of his throne Thranduil stood, with an expression of shock and joy on his face. "My Lord King!" Thranduil turned to her with a giddy smile. "It is gone, my Lord!" Thranduil nodded and swept down to her, taking her in his arms and spinning around for joy.

Gweneth laughed, feeling lighter than she could remember ever having been before. The weight of the Shadow and the Dark Lord's reign was gone. "My Lord, does this mean that the quest is done? That Legolas may return now?" Though she knew it must be so, Gweneth could hardly believe it. At Thranduil's nod, she wept for joy. "It's gone. It's over." Little did she know how close her words were to Frodo's.She felt as if she had been fighting a battle, and suddenly her enemies had disappeared before her eyes. So elated was she at the absence of the Shadow that her senses seemed jumbled and she was afraid to move for fear she would stumble. Thranduil smiled excitedly and took her arm.

"Come, Gweneth, let us celebrate with the kingdom." He walked with her out of the throneroom and into the other halls, where the sounds of laughter and singing could be heard. Their Gweneth found her mother and father and laughed and wept with them for a long time. Though she didn't know where Legolas was, and he could still be in danger, she was confident that he would return. Too many joys had already come to pass for this last joy- Legolas' return- not to come.

**TBC...**

**What a joyous chapter, aye? This is one of my favorite chapters of this story. Thank you all for your reviews, and keep them coming!**


End file.
